The Stains of Time
by C a Girl
Summary: Neville faces Bellatrix and the future head on. This one is dedicated to Dahv. I'm sorry I had to kill your beloved.
1. The Stains of Time

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The Stains of Time

The sleet gushed down relentlessly.

It was dark, freezing cold and pouring frozen strips of rain.

A round faced boy stumbled through the slushy streets, his hands in his pockets, his head down. He had grown taller over the years, lost his chubbiness. He might have appeared attractive if he had shaved the loose brown stubble on his chin, or dragged a comb through his thick mop of hair.

He had been long forgotten as the clumsy and forgetful boy he used to be.

He was a man now, a graduated wizard from Hogwarts school. He had responsibilities and a sense of duty. He was going to avenge his parents, whose recent death had affected him deeply.

The cuffs of his black pants were wet now with the cold down-pouring from above and his splashing gait below. Even though his parents had been gone for months he was in mourning still. He couldn't throw away their memory so easily, even the painful ones in the inhospitable ward at St. Mungo's that he'd always visited with his Gran.

It was because of her, the black haired devil. It was because her cruel sense of humor had lead her to torture his parents even after her master had fallen.

He would have his chance to avenge them. She would see to it. She had that sort of hunger that only tried and true killers had. She wouldn't rest until his entire line was extinguished. She would see that he would die or go insane in the process.

She was there, lurking in the shadows. Her wand was clenched in her hand. Her face was twisted in a grim smile.

She could hear the faint screams of the past, buried underneath the stains of time, the stains of blood on her hands. They would not come clean, but as she didn't have a soul it didn't matter.

She waited, as patiently as someone so intent on killing her prey can wait. He approached slowly, his senses on high alert. His wand was concealed in his robes, but his left hand was twitching closely to it. He was ready for her, around every corner he expected to come face to face with her.

Tonight would be the night.

It was perfect. The miserable weather had cleared the streets of Diagon Alley. There was not a wizard or witch in sight for miles around. There were only two people, one stalking slowly towards the other laying in wait.

She was three streets away. Every step he took was one step closer to her.

She wasn't sure which spell she would throw at him first. It might be just as fun to taunt him than to torture him. Death would be prolonged, drawn out, enjoyed for every painful second possible.

Looking ahead he could see her form through the broken shards of heaven's glass. The frozen rain would not let up. It was going to see this through, like the boy's determination. He was going to finish this tonight.

"Conjunctiva," she shouted before he had even drawn close enough to properly aim a spell.

He felt a searing pain behind his eyeballs and was squinting, blinded and hollering in pain. His already patchy vision was reduced to almost nil. "Diffindo," he countered, waving his wand around wildly.

Her lip split open and blood issued forth from the wound. "Very good boy, but do you think it will save you?"

He didn't want to dignify her taunts with a reply. He rubbed his eyes and concentrated deeply. "Finite Incantatum." He said softly. His eyes cleared and her lip stopped bleeding.

"Even playing field again?" She scoffed. "Not for long." She raised her wand again and shouted: "locomoter mortis!"

His legs locked together and refused to move at his command. She smiled cruelly. "This will be some fun. Mobilicorpus."

With a jerky motion from her wand she threw his body against the nearest building. He hit it with a bone crunching sound, enough to stop anyone in their tracks with a cringe. He wanted to scream out, but that was what she wanted. He braved it, sucking the air back over his teeth in pain and refusing to bellow out.

He managed to point his wand at her. "Tarantallegra."

She looked at him surprised as her legs spasmed out of control. Had she the concentration she might have commented on how very like his father he was, but she did not. This boy had taken her completely by surprise and in the moments it took her to calm her legs he had managed to unlock his.

While she was still distracted he worked out in his mind his next move. "Incendio," he said while pointing at her robes. They burst into flame and she yelped, once again taken off her guard.

"Impedimenta," she yelled as she tried to extinguish the flames, but he dodged it wisely.

"Petrificus totalus," he said in a voice quite unlike his own. He had never sounded so commanding and when her stiffened body fell into a pile of slush reducing the flames in a mist of smoke and sizzling sounds, he knew just what he would do. "Mobilicorpus."

Her body flew to the wall opposite and slammed full force into it. The young man knew he had broken some ribs and perhaps her arm, which was pinned to her chest from his previous spell. He let her body fall to the pavement, landing on her back.

Her black hair spread out under her like a great towel, soaking up all the moisture from beneath her. He stood over her with a dark smile. "You didn't think I was strong enough?"

She couldn't answer.

"I have been waiting for this day, preparing for it all my life. You tortured my parents almost to the point of death. They died by your hand six months ago. You couldn't wait to finish them off."

She wanted to throw every curse she knew at him, but she could not. Her wand was pinned to her side and he was wisely standing out of its line of fire.

"I pity you," he said, carefully enunciating each syllable so that she would know those were his last words to her.

He couldn't care anymore. If he wanted to do this he had to value his life above all else. Damn the consequences, he was going to kill her.

He pointed his wand at her. "Avada Kedavra."

Her eyes widened in surprise as the green light shot out from the tip of his wand. His face was cold in that green light; his jaw set in a hard line. He couldn't enjoy this moment, not like he had wanted to. Her body already stiff, grew cold and hard in an instant. He closed his eyes. It was many moments before he could open them to see what his actions had wrought.

He stepped closer and closed her eyes with his free hand. He stood slowly.

Neville looked down over the broken, burned, and bleeding form of Bellatrix Lestrange. A tear coursed over his cheek and a cold, hard knot throbbed in his chest. It might have been his heart, but tonight had changed it into something different, something alien that he could not recognize.

He wiped away the tear and let the frozen bits of rain pelt his upturned face. It had all come down to this and now there was nothing.

Nothing would wake him in the night in a cold sweat of fear. Nothing could interrupt his thoughts, driving him far beyond distraction. Nothing could stop him from being the man he had never thought he could be. Nothing.


	2. The Trial

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The Trial

The gallery was filled with wizards and witches.

The wizengamot would hold court today for a young boy who had committed an unforgivable crime.

The boy was brought in, wandless and with guards flanking his sides. He refused to sit in the chair, even with the chains taken off. It was not because of fear. It was because he was ready to face this trial and he wanted to face it on his feet.

Hermione looked on, torn between crying and trying to understand why he would take the law into his own hands. Neville had never been one to put up a fight, not until much later in school. Here he was, standing alone in the middle of the court, waiting for his trial to begin. She had never seen him so brave and with a shock she realized that she didn't recognize him anymore.

On either side of her Harry and Ron held their breath. They hadn't seen Neville since his parents' funeral and the boy they saw now could hardly be called a boy. He looked like a man, a man willing to accept the responsibility of his actions.

Cornelius Fudge was presiding over the case, aiming not to lose control of his precious ministry duties. Dumbledore had begged to be head officiator for this case, but Fudge knew where that would lead. It would become impossible to serve justice if he didn't come down hard on this case. He began abruptly.

"You have been accused of the crime of using an unforgivable curse. How do you plead?"

"Guilty," the boy answered calmly.

The noise swelled as the onlookers turned to one another to whisper a comment. It continued until the room was filled with mumbles, one added upon the one next to it until the volume was like the roar of the sea up close.

"Silence," Cornelius commanded while bringing his gavel down upon the table.

The room quieted quickly as an uncomfortable conversation is like to do. It was abrupt and left many squirming in their seats.

"And you used this curse against the known criminal, Bellatrix Lestrange?"

"Yes."

"It was self defense," Hermione said loudly.

Cornelius shot her a stifling look, but didn't feel the need to bring down the gavel again. He turned his attention back to Neville.

"You sought her out with the intention of using this curse?"

Neville took a long moment to answer. He wasn't certain he'd been seeking her out. He had prepared for that moment, but he hadn't spurred it on. "No sir," he replied.

"But you intended to kill her?"

Again, Neville made the court wait for his reply. He had wanted to, but he hadn't intended to until the moment before he did it. He had debated this issue for months, maybe years and he couldn't recall a time when he hadn't tossed the idea around in his head. He had wanted to from the time he learned to hate her name, at a very early age. "No."

"Isn't it correct that Mrs. Lestrange killed your parents?"

"Yes sir."

"Isn't it also correct that she had tortured them into insanity when you were still a very little child?"

"Yes."

"Wouldn't it be correct to assume that you wanted to avenge your parents?"

"Of course," he answered in the same calm, thoughtful demeanor he'd been using all day. Even with Fudge's goading Neville was not losing his calm. This was the biggest difference that Hermione noticed. He really had grown up and she'd missed it.

"But if you hadn't intended to seek out and kill Mrs. Lestrange then how could you avenge your parents?"

"That's a loaded question," mumbled Hermione irritably.

Ron shushed her and Harry patted her hand in an effort to calm her.

"I wanted to avenge them," he answered slowly, "but I didn't intend to kill her in order to do so. It just… happened."

"It just happened?"

"I mean to say that as we were there dueling it occurred to me that one of us was going to die that night. It just happened to be her night and not mine." Neville kept his eyes focused on Fudge. He did not look up to his supporters or the people who had already judged him. He was only looking towards the justice that Fudge would surely deal him.

"You believe that she would've killed you had you not killed her?"

"Given the opportunity she would've killed me first, yes."

"You didn't give her the opportunity?"

"No sir," Neville answered.

"You preemptively struck out at her in the belief that she would kill you?"

"No. She struck me first. We dueled for awhile before I used the unforgivable curse on her."

"But you thought she would kill you?" Fudge asked, trying to get under Neville's cool exterior.

"Of course."

"You didn't think to contact the authorities?"

"There was no time."

"And you didn't think to simply stun her?"

"Stunning spells don't seem to stick to Bellatrix Lestrange," the young man replied, looking back to that night in the ministry during his fifth year. Several stunners had hit Bellatrix during that battle and she took them in stride.

"So you decided that killing her would resolve the issue?"

"At the time it was the thing to do."

"At the time?"

"Everything has its time and place sir."

"And that night was the time and place for Bellatrix Lestrange's death?"

Neville didn't answer. He didn't feel that Cornelius' comment was a question.

"You killed her and waited for the authorities to arrive?" Fudge continued after the brief pause.

"Yes. That's correct."

"What made you decide to wait?"

"It felt like the right thing to do."

"So after killing Mrs. Lestrange you though it was the right thing to confess to the crime of doing so?"

"Yes," he answered plainly. Fudge's questions were growing repetitive and tiring, but Neville saw through his ruse. By asking similar questions over and over he hoped to find a contradiction within to trap the young man who stood accused.

"Have you anything to say for yourself?"

Neville took another long moment to gather his thoughts. He had many things to say for himself but nothing really leapt out at him. He shook his head from side to side.

"The jury will retire to deliberate your case," Fudge intoned.

The guards removed Neville from the room as the jury left and the members of the gallery started a vicious commentary on the trial so far.

Hermione breathed heavily. There were no words to express the terrible feeling she had welling in her chest. Ron held her hand lightly; Harry patted her every now and again on the shoulder.

The chatter died down as the jury returned. It didn't take them very long. Neville was brought back in and allowed to stand in the center as he had been before he was escorted out.

"Neville Longbottom you have hereby been found guilty for the crime of using an unforgivable curse and the death of Bellatrix Lestrange. You have been sentenced to seven years…"

Cornelius could not finish for the uproar of the crowd. Angry shouts resounded all around and no amount of gavel banging would stop it. Neville stood quietly at the center of everything, understanding fully his fate. He did not acknowledge the angry yells in his behalf; he didn't seem to register that there even was a gallery screaming at the injustice of the thing.

He continued to look at Cornelius placidly. He nodded a few times and at that tiny gesture the crowd went silent.

The silence lingered well beyond the average comfortable range. Finally Cornelius spoke. "You will be taken to Azkaban immediately to begin your sentence. Do you have anything you'd like to say?"

Neville took his eyes off of Fudge for the first time that morning. He looked around at his friends and smiled to them with a gentle nod. He saw the people who had raised their fists in outrage at his sentence only moments before. He appeared to them grateful for a moment and at the same time relieved.

He turned back to Cornelius and said softly: "thank you."

His tiny voice carried through the entire hall, washing over every witch or wizard who had ever been touched by the clumsy, forgetful boy that Neville once was. His words meant a different thing to each and every one of them, but they all understood.

Neville didn't know if he would make it out of this alive or better off, but he knew that it was the right thing and he was going to see it through as far as he could.


	3. Some Stars Stand Alone

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Some Stars Stand Alone

Laying on her back in the cool, dewy grass Hermione could see every star straight to the horizon. It was one of those perfectly clear nights that stretched on forever if you let it.

She was free and able to enjoy it properly. Ron was laying next to her, enjoying this stolen moment together in the dead of night to watch the stars like young lovers too afraid to touch.

"It's nice to see that every star has another star you can connect it to," he said, tracing the lines between tiny sparks of light set in the sky like a giant ferroniere for the Queen of Heaven.

"That's not true," Hermione answered coolly, ignoring the romance of the moment. "Some stars stand alone."

She was thinking about Neville again. The whole ordeal was so entirely unjust.

Justice had to be served. A crime was committed; it needed to be rectified with a punishment. It made sense, but under the present circumstances the logic failed to make it right.

Bellatrix deserved to die and who better to kill her than Neville. He had suffered the most out of all her victims. It was only fitting that he should be the one to end her tirade of agony.

The judicial system didn't look at it that way.

She had tried to visit him several times, but as she was family they wouldn't let her. His only family left was his Gran and she was too old and frail to go to Azkaban for visits. It was a very accurate picture to paint Neville standing alone in his cell for hours on end.

No one would come to visit him and no one would know his fate until seven years' time was over.

His future looked bleak from this angle and only seven years would prove whether or not he was brave enough to stand through it all.

Hermione looked up to a tiny star resting on the horizon all by itself. It set quietly into the blue-black mountains. She made a wish on that star just before it disappeared from the night. She turned to Ron and held him tightly to her, the one real thing she could hold on this lonely night.


End file.
